


I Love Your Needy Style

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bad Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Dark Will, Dom Will, Gunplay, Guns, Hand Jobs, Killing Fantasy, M/M, Molly/Will Mention, Needy Hannibal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Will Can't Kill Hannibal, Will is rude, but he wants to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal only has so much patience. After three years of waiting, he escapes and finds Will on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love Your Needy Style

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember writing this. It was saved under the name "U Sick Puppy." Who knows. Maybe it's cursed. 
> 
> Read at your own risk.

“Get on the ground.” Will’s voice was harsh and loud, but undoubtedly certain of every word that craned over his teeth. “Get on your knees.”

Hannibal did as he was told. His hands hovered carefully over his head as he lowered himself to his knees. He didn’t make a sound but his presents in the room carried the same overwhelming mass of a sonic-boom.

When he was on the ground, Will took his first steps from the doorway and into the room. Seeing Hannibal in this house, in this _bedroom,_ standing on Molly’s side of the bed filled his body with something familiar; a trembling feeling that leapt off his fingertips like electricity. It tasted like anxiety.

He found himself ecstatic that the he-of-the-past had foreseen something such as this happening, and that he had not stopped stashing guns around the house like Easter eggs. He knew this would happen someday and the AMT Hardballer that he cradled in his hand made him feel as if he were prepared. 

“What are you doing here?” Will spat. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if he feared someone would hear. He was home alone, besides the dogs, and would be for some time tonight. There wasn’t anyone around to hear him other than Hannibal.

While Will moved, Hannibal’s eyes followed him; his eyes locked on Will’s. When Will spoke, his eyes dropped aggressively to Will’s knees. It was nearly embarrassment that cast on his face, but not quite.

“I wanted to see you.” He said, before cautiously lifting his gaze back to Will’s face. There was a light to his expression, a glow even, that made Will want to smile at him. Every part of him fought that as he moved in even closer. The aim of his gun never left the firing range of Hannibal’s forehead.

Will was full of questions, buzzing inside of him and crawling beneath his skin like the actual parasite Hannibal was to him. _No one would blame you_. He thought. _He’s broken into your home, where your family is. Just kill him._

Will pictured it, a world where he’d pulled the trigger. He imagined that Hannibal’s expression wouldn’t change at hearing the gun go off, nor would it change when the bullet burrowed itself into his skull. In slow motion at first, then quickly in the speed of life, Will visualized Hannibal’s head snapping back at the added presence of steel in his brain.

_You know the only way he’ll go away, for good, is if he’s dead._

But, in these minimal fantasies that crossed his mind in the time it took him to press the muzzle of the gun against Hannibal’s actual flesh, Hannibal didn’t die. His head snapped back and then, as if the film were put in reverse, his head came back up with the same look on his face: coy, full of shy apologies that he’d never speak. The only difference was the trickle of blood that leaked from his head, running down the bridge of his nose and into his eyes.

Will cocked the real gun, pressing the muzzle into Hannibal with enough force that he knew a bruise would form. At the very least he wanted to bruise him.

Hannibal didn’t move or speak. He continued looked up at Will with the same soft eyes. Will’s fantasies were feeling more and more real, coming closer and closer.

“Nothing about this not being intimate enough?” Will asked. His voice came out much more gentle than he wanted it to. It was too kind of a question. It revealed too much of what was going on in his head, in the very back of his mind where he was screaming for Hannibal to talk him out of this.

Hannibal parted his lips in thought, before smiling. “Am I wrong to assume that this isn’t a euphemism from something more _intimate_ , Will?” Hannibal’s tongue slid out over his lips, allowing wet and sloppy sounds to escape his mouth.

Will felt the hardness he had been carrying on his face melt, exchanged with wide eyes and a lowered jaw. Out of the millions of word combinations he could fathom Hannibal to come out with in a situation like this, this wasn’t anywhere on his radar.

With Will’s guard so obviously dropped, Hannibal took the opportunity to lower his hands. He rested one on the top of his own thigh, while the other reached out and took Will’s wrist. Will’s finger still rested itself on the trigger but his grip was loose. It wasn’t difficult or, Hannibal felt, _dangerous_ to lead the muzzle of the gun from his forehead to mouth. Will had hardly recovered from Hannibal’s choice in words when Hannibal parted his lips over the muzzle of the gun and took the barrel to the back of his throat.

Will fought through every impulse his body had at that moment; particularly the one urging him to pull the trigger now and watch the base of Hannibal’s skull fall to the floor like a bowl full of gore. It would be a lot harder to explain if Hannibal were to die that way, but he was certain not many labels of blame would find their way to him. However, violence wasn’t the only action type rattling around in his mind now, and that couldn’t go ignored.

Hannibal’s eyes shut and Will could feel the gun gently turn in his hand, under the influence of what he assumed was Hannibal’s tongue, confirming that Hannibal was going as far as taking actual steps in orally pleasuring the barrel of the gun- Just in case the suggestion was going over Will’s head.

Will swallowed hard to keep a moan locked away in his stomach. Slowly, Hannibal let his own head fall back until the gun fell from him. His eyes fluttered open as the muzzle drifted over the round of his bottom lip, pulling it down to expose his teeth. His eyes were dark, lidded and heavy. He looked as if deep throating steel had actually done _something_ for him.

The moan resurfaced in Will’s throat, so he coughed to cover it.

“I’m not here to cause harm, Will.” Hannibal explained, the taste of metal still lingering on his tongue. He longed for a new taste to fill him.

His voice was unlike what Will had ever heard come from him before- it was hot in temperature, dripping with want. Will’s body was feeling weaker and weaker by the syllable.

 “I wanted to _see_ you.” Hannibal’s inflection over the word _see_ was accompanied by a low darting of his eyes, to the buckle securing Will’s pants, and then back up to Will’s face.

Will said nothing, and not from a lack of wanting to. There was plenty he wanted to say but every thought was forced from his mind at raw image of Hannibal’s mouth around his gun, and the memory of the brief touch of Hannibal’s lips against his hand as he did so. He knew that Hannibal knew his mind was spinning; he knew Hannibal knew he couldn’t help but replace the image of the gun with something more _personal._ The smirk on Hannibal’s wanting face shouted everything that he knew.

The fact that the fabrication his mind building for him was, at this time, just within reach and being _offered_ to him made it even easier. Much easier than pulling the trigger.

Will was still for a very long time before taking a fumbling step forward. He wanted so badly for the motion to be smooth, but it wasn’t; the toe of his shoe caught against the wood of the floor and he practically fell into Hannibal’s grasp.

Everything that had previously been so slow moving and sensual was now rushed, frantic even, as Hannibal grabbed Will’s hips and pulled them to his face. Hannibal moved with deliberate and rapid intent, as if he were fearful that Will might change his mind. Will couldn’t blame him for that because he still felt like it was with in realm of possibility that he _would_ change his mind.

Will had enjoyed the idea of undoing and opening his own pants for Hannibal, holding his chin and guiding his cock into him, but Hannibal was moving so unpredictably and fast. First his hands were on Will’s hips, then his fingers were in tucked neatly into his pockets while he kissed vigorously at the place just above the waist hem of his pants. For a moment, Hannibal’s hands were nowhere and then there was a hand sliding up the inside of his thigh. Hannibal worked his hand over the growing bulge at Will’s crotch while pulling his belt free. He didn’t un-lace it, just let it hang enough for him to unzip Will’s pants. He kissed again at Will’s bare skin, and then through the fabric of his undergarments until they were wet with his spit.

Will wanted to take control but seeing Hannibal be and act so insatiable for him was just as good. It was more than good. He had never seen him desperate and it was such a remarkable look for Hannibal to have, in Will’s newly formed opinion. The scenes glory was amplified even more due to the fact Hannibal didn’t seem to mind that Will’s gun was still pressed against him, stiff in the curve of his neck.

Will had removed his finger from the trigger, but he still held the gun as if he may fire it. From Hannibal’s point of view, he was still in as much danger of getting shot as he had been when he first entered the room. It only motived him to work quicker, pulling the elastic of Will’s briefs down with one hand while pulling him out with the other. His cock was already hard from Hannibal’s massage, and a bit wider than the barrel of his gun, but Hannibal took him down to the base in the same swift, casual manner.

Will groaned, loudly and from the base of his throat. The muscles in his thighs clenched and his arms momentarily convulsed. The gun jolted against Hannibal, and Hannibal pulled back immediately. Will’s cock left his mouth with a wet pop and Will sighed in response to the graphic sound. Carefully, Will tossed the gun to the mattress of the bed to keep it out of the picture- at least for a little while. He reached up with his free hand and knotted it in his own hair, pulling on it in an attempt to collect himself again.

Hannibal had read the movement of the gun as a method of telling him to stop. However, even after realizing and validating that the gun had only been moved because of Will’s natural reaction to being swallowed, Hannibal thought to pace himself. He wanted to drag this out for as long as he could. He wanted Will for as long as he could have him.

Starting this time at the under-base of Will’s cock, Hannibal traced a zigzag pattern up his stem with his tongue. When he reached the tip, he started over at the base and this time licked him in one long, slow movement. He took Will’s tip into his mouth and sucked in while pressing his tongue against the slit. Hannibal’s eyes were locked up on Will’s face the entire time, enjoying the look he wore when struggling. Will’s eyes were shut tightly but Hannibal wanted to be there if they ever opened for him.

Will whined, devoting all his energy into not kicking his hips up and into Hannibal’s mouth. He wanted to fuck his throat and he wondered if Hannibal would let him. He had taken the gun so smoothly, he had taken him so smoothly. Will tried to think of the sounds that would escape from Hannibal’s lungs if he weren’t so occupied, but instead heard himself mimicking them while Hannibal fondled his testicles with the broadness of his tongue.

Hannibal had chosen to rest his face against Will’s hip and just kiss his cock with lazy, wet, messy kisses. He gently embraced the back of Will’s thigh with one hand, while the other squeezed his balls. Will chose this time to open his eyes and regretted it the moment his eyes met with Hannibal’s. Hannibal couldn’t help but laugh softly with his own pride upon seeing the absolutely wrecked expression Will’s face had adopted. The vibrations the laugh caused weren’t of any help; Will’s legs were trembling.

“Will?” Hannibal spoke, with a tone still wet, still heavy with lust. He looked away from Will to release him, closing his eyes and pressing a firm and tongue-less kiss on Will’s shaft. “Are you having trouble standing?”

Will nodded, closing his own eyes again and lowering the hand that had been in his hair, so that it might knot it up in Hannibal’s. He had hardly wrapped a finger in the soft blonde hairs at the base of Hannibal’s neck before Hannibal took hold of his hips again, shoving him back until Will tripped onto the mattress. He fell with his back flat on the bed and reached out for the gun. His hands had found it, waiting for him, by the time Hannibal had crawled on top of him.

Hannibal spread Will’s legs so his shoulders could fit between them. He began to fist Will's cock with one hand while the other explored his abdomen, just _feeling_ him _._ His fingertips found the scar he had carved just over 3 years earlier, and he couldn’t help but pry into it- as if he could open him again.

Will yelped helplessly, pushing his hips up in time with the movements of Hannibal’s hand while simultaneously trying to pull his own stomach from him.

Hannibal took his hand from his scar and took Will back in his mouth in the same motion. Will brought both of his hands up to his face to cover it, biting down on the bend of his thumb to keep himself quiet.

Hannibal’s hand made an L shape at the base of Will’s cock, while the other gripped tightly into Will’s top comforter. He kneaded the fabric and tried to feel it as the top of Will’s head; dark curls weaving in and out of the space between his fingers.

Will felt him begin to hum and he began to gasp wildly. It didn’t take Will long to recognize the fact that Hannibal wasn’t _randomly_ humming a pattern, but that he was playing him a familiar tune.

 _He’s singing._ Will thought. _Of course he’s fucking singing._

Will’s hips arched high as he shuttered to his climax. He was much quieter than what Hannibal had hoped for, but he did make out the distinct whisper of his name lingering on his lips long after he had spilled between Hannibal’s.

Hannibal pulled his head back before Will was finished coming, allowing some to drip down his chin and then splatter on his cheek. He swallowed what had made it into his mouth, then licked clean his bottom lip. He lapped at the mess that remained on Will’s body, and finished by wiping the splash off his face with his index finger. That, too, he cleaned with his mouth, all while looking up at Will with hopes that he would look down at him and see the performance he was working so hard on. Will never looked.

While Will laid on the bed, panting and moaning softly to himself at the memories he had just created, Hannibal crawled up his body. He kissed at random spots as he went, like his hip, ribcage, chest, and shoulder. When he reached his face, Will lowered his hands so that Hannibal could kiss his jaw and his cheek, eventually kissing him on the mouth long and slowly. Will placed one hand on the small of Hannibal’s back as he cuddled up beside him, while the other stretched out over the bed. Hannibal didn’t realize why until the muzzle of the gun was reintroduced to his body.

Will pressed the gun into the underside of Hannibal’s chin, forcing Hannibal to lean farther and farther back. When Will could see the entirety of Hannibal’s surprised face, and Hannibal could see the entirety of the cold expression that had devoured Will’s, Will spoke in a rough, deep undertone.

“I _said_ get on the ground.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may take this down come morning, so enjoy while you can.
> 
> Title taken from Borgore's "Love"


End file.
